


Loop

by thealmostviki



Series: a-haunting we will go (ghost au) [1]
Category: Thomas Sanders
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Angst, Because I needed more of it, Death, Gen, Human AU, Non-Graphic Violence, but it's actually super chill so don't worry about it, happy halloween everybody, like descriptions of death so, take heed of that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-23 15:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12510344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealmostviki/pseuds/thealmostviki
Summary: "Do you believe in ghosts, Logan?""No." The answer is easy. "It's highly unlikely.""Why do you say that?" Virgil's voice is careful, although Logan can't imagine why. The statistical probability of ghosts is so low there's no point wasting the thought. The idea that the spirit of something could be tethered to a physical artifact, the implication that living things even have souls, is too metaphysical to fully be determined through any degrees of natural science. Logan tells Virgil this, and Virgil's mouth presses into a line. At first, Logan thinks he's going to argue, but he doesn't. He just shrugs and puts his earbud back in."Okay. I was just wondering."Or: Logan hasn't seen another human being in three years. Then Virgil moves in, and Logan is forced to confront his loneliness head-on, whether he likes it or not.





	Loop

**Author's Note:**

> I should be getting the second part of Tremor up but this has been sitting in my drafts for just as long and I finally found the time to finish it.  
> This is my first fic for this fandom, and it's about ten times longer than I planned on it being. I've never written anything like this before, so here's hoping this works out the way I wanted it to lmao. I might continue this AU if anyone wants to hear it bc I have the other three's stories planned as well but. I'm tired rn so I haven't written them out.  
> This is unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine. Comments and critique are super appreciated, and I'll try to respond when I find time!

10

Logan steps out of the elevator. He lives alone on this floor; nobody else has been willing to live up here since the "hauntings" began. The statistical probability of ghosts is so low that Logan refuses to let himself be caught up in the hysteria. The flickering lights and shaking walls don't deter him. The building has faulty lighting after all, and a weak foundation besides, and this apartment is centrally located to everywhere he needs to go in the city. As far as he's concerned it's just a normal apartment building with normal rooms, and the whereabouts of its other tenants are unimportant to him.

    He walks towards his apartment and notices another person. He stops short. He's about average size, wearing an oversized hoodie and large headphones. Maybe a student trying to find cheap rent. This place is less expensive than the dorms the city university provides. The guy looks in his direction, but his eyes completely skip over Logan, which is fine. He doesn't want to make conversation anyway. They disappear into their respective apartments with a creak and a click of the lock, and the hallway is empty once more.

\--- 

9

Logan is in the elevator. There are two people in it with him, a bubbly guy with a cardigan and a pompous-looking man with too much styling gel in his hair. They don't pay him any mind, which is fine with Logan. He's always been bad at small talk. The doors open and Logan is back on his floor. The other two follow him down the hall.

    "This place looks like a haunted house," says the one with the cardigan, and the other groans as if the statement is an old and tired gag.

    "You say that about every place we go," he bemoans, and the one with the cardigan shrugs.

    "Actually, there is a persistent rumor that this area is inhabited by some sort of sentient supernatural phenomenon," Logan interjects. "That's why the population of this floor is meager, to say the least."

    They both jump and turn to look at him as if realizing for the first time he's there.

    "I- how did-"

    "I'm Logan. I live on this floor. Would I be correct in saying you are here to visit this hall's only other inhabitant, my neighbor?"

    "Virgil?"

    "We have not yet been acquainted."

    "Oh, well, we moved in here a few days ago. With Virgil. I'm Patton and this is my friend Roman." Patton looks unsure how to carry on the conversation as if he hasn't had to introduce himself to people in a long time. "We all moved in together. It's strange we haven't seen you yet."

    "I'm away at work most of the day. I'm also busy with classes."

    They lapse into silence. Logan reaches his own door and Roman and Patton stop in front of Virgil's.

    "I guess we'll be seeing you around, Logan," Roman said, sounding somehow harsh even though Logan was sure he hadn't done anything to offend them. They'd barely had a conversation.

    "I suppose," he said and turned the key in his apartment. Three neighbors? What a hassle. He far preferred being alone.

    "You should stop by sometime," Patton says. "It gets lonely around here."

    "I hadn't noticed," Logan says, voice a bit tighter than he intended. The walls of the apartment building groan. Patton's eyes widen and he looks around nervously. Roman opens his mouth to speak but Logan turns away and goes into his own apartment.

    He isn't lonely. He isn't. He's busy, that's all.

    The walls stop groaning.

 ---

8

Logan stands at the door to Virgil's apartment. He promised Patton he'd come by today. They discovered a few weeks ago that they both have a love of classics and Patton had insisted he come over to see his collection. He takes the detour across the hall and knocks on the door of what he still thinks of as Virgil's apartment, and Patton answers, big smile in place.

    Their apartment is the same size as his, but their apartment feels homier, more lived in. Patton has a bookshelf on the far wall of the living room, and they spend hours going over the books in it. Patton pulls out _Ulysses_ and starts flipping through it.

    "You've read _Ulysses_? It's the height of literary pretention."

    "Oh, trust me," Virgil says, appearing out of nowhere to flop down next to Patton. "We have a lot of free time."

    "Do you?" Logan eyes them suspiciously. "Virgil, I thought you were a student at the university."

    Virgil blinks. "I was. I...dropped out. I wasn't that great at it."

    There's more to this story than Virgil is saying, but Logan isn't one for prying. Instead, he fixes his gaze on Patton.

    "And what do you do?"

    "Me? Oh...a bit of this and that."

    "Hmm." He drops the subject.

    Logan browses through the shelves, running over titles hoping to find one he hadn't read before. His fingers stop on The _Kraus Project_ and pull it out, turning it over in his hands.

    "That's mine, actually," Virgil says when Logan shows him the cover. "Roman recommended it."

    "Roman did?" _Roman reads_? he didn't say and started flipping through the pages. "I read this a while ago. The narrative style is dense but not unreadable."

    "Really?" Virgil perks up. "What did you think of it?"

    "Well, I thought that-" Logan's brain stops. He stumbles over his own words, tries again. "I think his criticism of digital culture, particularly in-" Like a computer unable to find a file, his thoughts freeze, and rewind.

    "Logan, are you okay?" Patton's eyebrows are knit in concern, and he tries to say he's fine but his mouth freezes around the words. Did he ever finish _The Kraus Project_? Of course he did. It never takes him more than a week to finish a book even at his absolute busiest, and he'd bought it...when had he bought it? Randomly, he starts flipping pages, speeding through the essays until he reaches somewhere in the middle when the words stop looking familiar. But he had to have read past this part, right? He remembers reading it, remembers buying it on a Tuesday, he was coming home from work at the bookstore, he was holding his page with his right hand and shifted the book to his left to open the door of his apartment and when he got inside-

    " _Logan_!" Virgil calls, sounding panicked. The walls of the apartment groan. The lights flicker. The book falls from Logan's hand and he is dissolving, dissolving, dissolving-

 ---

7

Logan is sitting on Patton's couch. It is _Patton's_ couch, Logan's been informed, as he's the one who insists they bring it everywhere. They move around a lot, but they're hoping to stay here because they like this part of the city.

    "It's very central," Virgil said once. "Easy know where you are."

    "Exactly," Logan agreed.

    Virgil is sitting next to him now, and they're sharing earbuds as Virgil thumbs through his phone and Logan skims through documents on his computer, searching for a particular article he needs for a reference. It's easiest to exist like this with Virgil, simply taking up the same space but not speaking. He's spent a lot of time at their apartment lately-more than he's spent at his own.

    It could be hours or minutes that pass, but after a while, Virgil sits up and removes his earbud from his ear.

    "Do you believe in ghosts, Logan?"

    "No." The answer is easy. "It's highly unlikely."

    "Why do you say that?" Virgil's voice is careful, although Logan can't imagine why. The statistical probability of ghosts is so low there's no point wasting the thought. The idea that the spirit of something could be tethered to a physical artifact, the implication that living things even _have_ souls, is too metaphysical to fully be determined through any degrees of natural science. Logan tells Virgil this, and Virgil's mouth presses into a line. At first, Logan thinks he's going to argue, but he doesn't. He just shrugs and puts his earbud back in.

    "Okay. I was just wondering."

    Something in his voice is tearing at Logan's very existence but he says nothing and turns back to his computer. The heat of the laptop is less tangible, the air much thinner.

    "Do you believe in ghosts, Virgil?"

    Virgil lets out a breath that sounds like it's been building for a hundred years. "I wish I didn't."

 ---

6

Logan steps out of the elevator. He's increasingly tired these days and he can't figure out why. He doesn't think he's working more than usual, but sometimes the stress gets to him. The increasingly frequent power outages aren't helping on that front.

    Roman knocks on his door a while later, shuffling awkwardly. He doesn't talk to Roman much; he gets the feeling Roman doesn't like him. Every time they're in the same room Roman's jaw sets in distaste. Logan almost peers around him to see if Patton is behind Roman egging him on, but he manages to refrain.

    "Yes?" he asks, not opening the door wider to let him inside.

    Roman holds out a book:  _The Kraus Project_. "Virgil said you'd mentioned this book before, but that you never finished it. A pity, it seems like something someone of your...sort would enjoy."

    "My sort?" Logan takes the book and flips through it. The book is familiar, tugging at something in the corner of his mind, but it isn't pressing enough for him to mind it.

    "You know..." Roman waves his hand dismissively. "English teacher types."

    Logan resists the urge to immediately tell Roman to leave. "I'll have you know I teach European history, not English of any kind."

    "Don't you work in a bookstore?"

    "Yes, that is correct, although there is little correlation between my chosen profession and my part-time job."

    "I- okay." Roman takes a steadying breath as if to stop himself from continuing. He looks almost pained. "Do you like working there?"

    "Yes. I do. I appreciate the effort of my coworkers and the compendium of knowledge that surrounds me. Why?"

    "No reason. I was just...wondering." Roman seems to bite back more words, and he turns to leave. "Finish that book, alright?"

    "Alright," Logan says by way of goodbye and closes the door. He puts the book on his counter and ignores the shiver that climbs up his spine. He'll try to start on it tonight. If only he could remember where he'd stopped.

 ---

5

Logan is sitting at his desk, typing an essay. It's habit to have the television on in the background while he works if only so he can glance at it every once in a while to feign interest in current events. Even better, when the sun sets, the TV provides enough illumination so as to eliminate the need to turn on a lamp. Logan is only absently paying attention to it, but the morning discussions on news and politics shift to daily reports, one of them being the baseball game the previous day. Logan looks up at the TV just as they show a clip of the game's winning home run. The crack of the bat hitting the baseball echoes in his ears like a gunshot. Logan's vision goes white. He shoots out of his desk and turns the TV off, the image of the bat swinging wildly still looping before his eyes.

    He _hates_ baseball.

    It takes him until he'd calmed down to realize that the power has gone out. Wearily, he walked back to his desk to grab his phone and uses the flashlight to rummage around for candles.

    There's a knock at his door. He keeps his flashlight on when he goes to open the door and finds Virgil standing there, covering Logan's phone with his hand and hissing angrily at him.

    "-Trying to blind me?" Virgil winces and blinks hard, trying to extinguish the lights in his eyes. Logan fumbles to turn the light off.

    "Apologies, Virgil. Do you need something?"

    Virgil sticks his hands in his pockets and angles around Logan to see into his apartment. "I was gonna check if you were okay, but based on your miniature Yankee Candle over there I'd say you're fine."

    "I am. Are you three alright?" Logan is surprised to find that he cares. It's been so long since he's had neighbors, so long since he's had _friends_.

    "Oh, yeah. We're doing just great. I personally love the dark," Virgil says and smiles. In the candlelight, Virgil's face changes slightly, morphing and twisting just out of Logan's focus. It feels a bit like water filling Logan's lungs.

    With a jolt, Logan realizes Virgil is still speaking.

    "-and invite you to wait at our place until the power comes back on." Virgil rolls his eyes. "I told him you've lived here a long time and you're used to it, but if you don't want to upset him I'll make up some excuse."

    Logan weighs his options. He could stay here in his own apartment and wait until the power comes on, which wouldn't take more than an hour. Or he could go across to hall to Virgil's apartment, which is somehow more lived-in than any room he's ever been in, despite the fact they've only lived here for a few weeks. His laptop still had charge; he has essays to write, papers to grade. Yet Patton's words twist in his chest, pulling him to the door across the hall: _It gets lonely around here._ But Logan isn't lonely. He's...he's...

    "No, it's alright. I'll come over. It's more efficient for us to share light sources anyway. I'd rather not waste candles."

    Virgil's eyebrow raises, and his lips quirk in a small smile. "Alright. Come on then. Patton was trying to bake something when I left and if I'm not there we won't have an apartment by the time he's done."

    Logan follows him, closing his apartment behind him. He starts to walk away without locking it, but a burst of fear shoots through him and he yanks the key from his pocket. Rationally, he knows no one would get in. No one ever comes to this floor except the four of them. He can't be too careful, though. There are some risks he just isn't willing to take.

 ---

4

Logan steps out of the elevator. He's never been so tired. His whole body aches as if he's been running nonstop for days.   His own thoughts have started to twist on themselves, unraveling at the seams. It occurs to him to go to Virgil's apartment, but he doesn't want to bother any of them. The hallways groan sickeningly as if the building itself is sliding on its foundation. The sound of small animals and bugs line the halls. A door opens down the hall and Virgil's voice calls, "Logan?"

    "Go away," he hisses, but he has to walk toward Virgil to get into his own apartment. Halfway there, he stumbles, and Virgil catches him, lifting up his head to examine his face.

    "You're not well," he declares, and slings Logan's arm over his shoulder. They end up in Virgil's apartment and Logan doesn't even have the energy to complain. He collapses on the couch and cradles his head in his hands.

    Voices whisper just out of earshot, and Logan can barely pay enough attention to make out snippets of what they're saying. Roman's voice is insistent, growing increasingly upset, and Patton's tone is more serious than Logan has ever heard it. He catches his name somewhere in the hush of whispers and his heart leaps into his throat. He hopes they're not fighting over him. He'd rather suffer alone than cause fights.

    "Hey," Virgil says, his voice nearby. Logan opens his eyes and glances up to see Virgil offering him a glass of water. "Drink this."

    Logan accepts the water gratefully and takes small sips. Virgil sits down near him on the couch, but not close enough to suffocate him.

    "I told Patton and Roman to be quieter," Virgil tells him. "It didn't seem like the noise was helping."

    "I'm sorry," Logan feels the need to say. "I didn't mean to incite conflict."

    "You didn't _incite_ anything. This was a long time coming."

    "Oh. If I may ask, what is the argument about?"

    "Honesty," Virgil says, and that's all he volunteers. Logan sips his water and doesn't ask any more questions.

    A few minutes later, Roman storms down the hallway and out the door of the apartment. Patton follows behind him, looking similarly irate, but he manages to collect himself when he sees Logan wan and exhausted on the couch.

    "Hey, Logan. Virgil told us you were feeling a bit under the weather."

    "I'm feeling better now," Logan assures him, and he is. Now that he isn't standing on his feet he feels more centered, and his thoughts are quieting. "It's probably best I return to my own apartment now."

    " _No_." Virgil and Patton speak at the same time, their voices similarly insistent. They make eye contact, and Patton clears his throat nervously.

    "At least spend the night here to make sure you're alright. You still look pale, and I'd feel terrible if we sent you back to your apartment alone when you were sick."

    "I don't want to impose."

    "It's not imposing if we're offering, sport!"

    Logan looks between Patton, whose encouraging smile is a thousand times brighter than the apartment's cheap lighting, and Virgil, who's nervously chewing his lip next to him on the couch, and tells himself that he's doing this for them, not himself.

    "Alright," he says. "I'll stay."

    Patton claps his hands together excitedly. "Terrific! I'll get the spare blankets out of the closet!" And in an instant, he's gone. Virgil rises from the couch and slips his phone into his pocket.

    "I'd better go after Roman."

    "Will you be alright going alone?" Logan asks.

    Virgil raises an eyebrow in challenge. "It's broad daylight."

    "I'm aware of the time," Logan snaps, then takes a breath, steadies himself. "It's just...things happen."

    Virgil's expression softens a bit. "Trust me. Nothing's gonna happen to me."

    Logan, for some reason, believes him.

 ---

3

Logan steps out of the elevator and wants to collapse on the floor of the hallway. He's gotten worse over the past few days, much worse, but he hasn't let the others notice. He doesn't answer when they knock, he doesn't stop at their apartment after work. Thinking of them seems to make the pain in his chest grow, and so he cuts them out. He's eliminating variables, is all. He was alone once. He could do it again.

    He drags himself to his apartment and fumbles with the key. It falls to the ground and Logan almost wants to give up and fall on his knees in the hallway. But he can't do that. He can't let his weakness overcome him like this. He summons the strength to pick up his key and make his way into his apartment, dumping his bag and books by the door as he stumbles in.

    Logan doesn't remember falling asleep, but when he comes back to himself he's standing in his bedroom, and walls careening sickeningly around him. He presses the palms of his hands into his eyes and makes his way toward the kitchen, passing by the open bathroom door as he goes, then pauses, backpedals, finds his face in the mirror.

    He's pale. And not an ordinary pale. A sickly, unnatural pale, as if all the blood's been sucked from his body. It reminds him of a skull, and that thought is so disturbing he actually stumbles back, averting his eyes from his own image. The sound of a baseball bat echoes in his head again, the hard _crack!_ of a metal bat hitting not a ball but something more solid, something that _hurts._ Logan's headache intensifies. His body feels less and less like his own.

     _Do you believe in ghosts?_ Virgil had asked him, and of course he said no because he didn't. There was no evidence of ghosts, no proof, even considering it was asinine...

    Bile rises in the back of Logan's throat and he swallows it back down, continuing his trek to the kitchen. His eyes land on the book Roman handed him weeks again, _The Kraus Project_. Funny, he'd totally forgotten about it. Maybe that's why he'd never finished it: the book is completely forgettable. He picks it up and thumbs through it, ignoring the shaking of his fingers, trying to find a starting point. A piece of paper slides out from one of the pages and lands on the ground. _Maybe an old receipt, or a bookmark,_ Logan figures, and bends down to pick it up.

    When he sees the words, his brain freezes, rewinds. It doesn't make sense. On the paper, printed in full color, is a picture of him. Below it, in bold, is his name, and below that, a headline: 'Third Victim in a String of Violent Break-Ins Found Dead Thursday'. Logan goes cold.

    The article rattles off details in an orderly fashion, from the time the body was found to the suspected nature of the wounds. "Blunt force trauma to the head," the article reads. "Found in the entryway of his apartment after he missed a day of classes". Logan reads the article over and over, scans the picture, looks for anything that can prove this fake, make it seem like someone has tried to play a cruel trick on him. But he can't find it. He sees the words but the information is cycled out of his head. He has to be misreading it. This has to be a mistake. The person in the photograph isn't him, the article can't be about him, none of it can be real because Logan is standing here reading this, he isn't _dead._

 ---

2

Logan barges into Virgil's apartment without knocking. The piece of paper is clenched in his hands, which are shaking so hard he can hardly maintain his grip. No one seems surprised to see him. Virgil is staring at his knees, his face blank. Patton's face is wracked with guilt as he looks at Logan standing there, breathless. Roman stands to the side, arms crossed, impatient. Logan turns to him now, and with more anger than he can remember feeling in his entire life, spits his accusation.

    "Do you think this is a joke?" Roman doesn't react, which only makes Logan angrier. "Do you think this is funny?"

    The apartment is dead silent. It's stifling, oppressive. How had he ever lived so long in this quiet?

    "I didn't want to tell you," Virgil says, not meeting his eyes. "But Roman insisted wasn't fair to you."

    "What's not fair to me?" Again, there is silence. Logan wants to rip his own hair out. "What are you all hiding from me?"

    "Logan," Patton starts, voice soft and calm and all wrong. "You've been living here a long time, haven't you?"

    "I can hardly see how that's relevant." His words are sharp and poisonous but Patton doesn't bat an eye.

    "How long have you been in this building?"

    Logan bristles at the fact that he's being ignored, but he's far too tense for riddles and games. "Three years, maybe four. Why does it matter?"

    "That newspaper is from about three years ago."

    "I'm aware. I can read."

    "Can you?" Roman speaks up, and his voice is so emotionally heavy that Logan isn't sure where to begin picking it apart. "What's the date on that paper?"

    Logan answers through gritted teeth. "November 20, 2014."

    "And what's today's date?"

    "November 20, 20-" Logan stops, catches himself before he finishes the year. He does the math in his head. He's lived in this building for three years, so it isn't 2014 anymore. It can't be. But that's today's date. That's the date he's been writing at the top of his papers for weeks, months.

    Years.

    "Sometimes, um, when a person goes through trauma, they can forget parts of their life." Patton is still talking far too slow. Virgil still isn't looking at him, still picking at threads on his sweatshirt and Logan wishes he would please look up because Virgil is calm, objective. Virgil would stop Patton before he said anything too crazy, anything Logan couldn't handle. But Virgil doesn't look up.

    "Yes, I'm familiar," Logan says, even though it didn't require a response. "Post-traumatic amnesia is particularly common with head wounds." The phrase 'head wounds' bounces around his head right next to the words 'blunt-force trauma'.

    "And I'm sure it doesn't escape your knowledge that _death_ would be, generally, very traumatic."

    "I don't know what you're implying, but-"

    "What's the last thing you remember?"

    Logan swallows and clenches his fists to stop them from shaking. "I don't see why this information is relevant"

    "Logan."

    "No! I don't know what you're trying to prove but I'm not the one being interrogated here!" Logan thrust the book in Roman's direction, trying to turn his helplessness into anger before it completely overwhelmed him. "I know you're the one who planted that false article and I'll have you know that it's as needless as it is sickening, and it's beyond me what on Earth I did to you that made you feel the need to-"

    "What did you do at work today?"

    Logan's brain short circuits. His mouth opens to say something, _anything_ , but the words stick in his mouth and die before they reach his lips. Logan's thoughts wind backward, unable to find answers to questions that should be simple. Still, Roman persists.

    "You're always grading papers, but for what assignment? Why don't you ever finish grading those papers, Logan? How many people could possibly be in advanced European history?"

    "Roman," Patton says quietly. "I think it's best if you-"

    "When was the last time you left this building, Logan? When was the last time you went further than the elevator?" Roman's face is red now, too, almost righteous in his stance as he stares Logan down, and Logan isn't afraid of him but he shrinks from the onslaught of words. He squeezes his eyes shut but he can still see Roman's eyes burning into him, his voice grating on his nerves like nails on a chalkboard. He's willing himself to stay together, for his atoms to quiet and leave him whole because he needs to work through this, needs to prove to himself that his fears aren't true, that this is all a mean-spirited trick because there's no way that-

    "Roman, stop," Patton says, more forceful now. "This isn't right."

    Roman turns to him, eyes still alight, and Patton winces slightly at the harshness of his gaze. "What isn't right is leaving someone to suffer alone when I have the power to save them!"

    "Not everyone needs saving, Roman. Sometimes it's better to just leave things alone."

    "Oh, just like I should've left you alone when-"

    "Both of you, stop." Virgil's voice is quiet but it echoes through the apartment that seems both bigger and smaller than it did when Logan walked in. Objects flicker around them, like images on a television with bad reception. Logan stands frozen, hardly even daring to breathe. Virgil sighs and pushes his bangs out of his face, then looks over at Patton and Roman with disdain.

    "This isn't helping anything. You're only going to freak him out more."

    Logan thinks about responding that he isn't freaked out but Virgil fixes him with a hard stare and the words die in his mouth.

    "Logan, you told me you don't believe in ghosts?"

    He knows he's being walked into a trap but he swallows and nods.

    "Would you believe me if I said I had proof?"

    "It...it would have to be fairly convincing."

    Virgil gets off the couch and walks further into the apartment and returns with a box. He pulls off two more newspaper pages from under a stack, folded so precisely and delicately it appeared as though they hadn't been touched in years, and sets them on the coffee table. Patton sucks in a breath and Logan opens his mouth to speak but Virgil, as if he could hear Roman's mouth opening, shoots him a glare.

    "You know there's a right and a wrong way to do this," Virgil says, admonishment clear in his tone. "Cruelty doesn't suit you, Roman, nor you, Patton."

    Patton whimpers and steps back and Roman crosses his arms and turns away.

    "Here," Virgil says.

    Logan leans down to inspect the now unfolded pages, and again, it feels as though his brain is short-circuiting. Instead of his own face, it's Virgil and Patton's faces staring up at him from the wrinkled pages. Virgil's name is printed in block letters under a picture of a smoking car wreck, the date on the picture over a decade past. Patton's face is marred from the yellowed and cracked pages but Logan can still read the heavy sentiment of the obituary, how he was beloved by his family and classmates, how he'd returned glory to his soccer team, all of it written in the past tense, the date printed in the corner reads 1981 but the face in the picture looks the same as the one in front of him, as if he hasn't aged, as if he is...

    "Why would we keep fake articles of ourselves?" Virgil prompted, lacing his fingers in Logan's shaking hands and squeezing hard. They were as cold as a corpse. "And you know these aren't fakes." Virgil's face does that twisting thing again when it looks like him but also not at the same time. His skin seems paler, more sallow, the edges of his jacket are stained so so dark and getting darker by the second, the stain spreading as if from an unseen wound. The newspaper clipping in Logan's hand feels heavy, so heavy, heavy enough to rip his arm from his socket. He's holding a report of Virgil's death, he's holding his own obituary, but he could only be holding his own obituary if-

     _The statistical probability of ghosts is infinitesimally small. It's useless to fear monsters that don't exist, and ghosts don't exist. Ghostsdon'texistghostsdon'texistghostsdon'texist-_

 

2

Logan steps out of the elevator. Patton and Roman are in there with him. They are partially transparent, their faces blending into the steel doors. Logan looks down at his own hand. It's also transparent, his skin sallow and pale. His fingers still tingle from Virgil's handshake. It's been a long time since he touched anyone.

 

2

Logan steps out of the elevator. The cobwebs in the corner of the halls are getting bigger. He opens the door to his apartment and dust billows out. The apartment is barren, dark, and dank. He wonders idly where all his stuff has gone, but it's irrelevant. He has everything he needs.

 

2

Logan steps out of the elevator. He doesn't have any work to do. He doesn't have any time to waste. Time lost all meaning three years ago.

 

2

Logan steps out of the elevator. The elevator never went anywhere at all. It doesn't come up this high anymore. Yet still, he returns to it, day after day, with the same blankness, the same meaningless drive.

 

2

Logan steps out of the elevator. It was a busy day at work. A customer came in demanding a book that wouldn't be released until the following week, and the coffee shop was running behind, so all the office workers were testy. Logan had tried his best, but there was only so much he could so when no one wanted to listen to his suggestions. Exhausted, he walks towards his apartment, waving an absent hello to the man down the hall leaving for his night shift. He tries to be conscientious, even if the sentiment is empty. He may not be a good friend, but he's an amicable neighbor. He sticks the key in the lock and finds that the door was already unlocked. Irrelevant, he told himself. I must've forgotten this morning. He opens the door.

    Everything happens very fast, then.

    There's a man on the other side of the door, tall, hard-faced, remorseless. Logan enters and drops his books in shock. The man turns. Logan is frozen. He can't reach for his phone. He can't back out into the hallways.

    "Hey _kid,_ " the man says, his voice like a car engine- rough and mechanical. "Maybe pretend you didn't see a thing, huh?"

    "I- what are you doing in my apartment?" Logan says dumbly, thoughts whirring like a broken CD player.

    And those are his last words. The man grabs him by the shirt and throws him into the wall. His head slams against the drywall and he slumps to the ground, stars popping in front of his eyes. The intruder lifts something long and metal-a baseball bat-high above his head. Before Logan can speak, think, dodge, it comes down. His head explodes in pain. He thinks he screams. His eyes never see the blood because they are already closed, he's already falling sideways, Logan stands above his body, watching the blood color the walls, the floor, the pages of _The Kraus Project_ , his ringing-phone...

 

 

1

He wakes in his apartment, in his bedroom, and he registers that this is the first time he's truly woken up anywhere in the past three years. His head hurts, but compared to before, this subtle ache is nothing. Even before he opens his eyes he knows he is being watched. He sits up and sees Virgil sitting at his desk in the corner of the room, scrolling through some feed on his phone.

    Virgil's eyes flicker up at the movement, but his expression doesn't change when he sees Logan is awake.

    "How are you feeling?" Virgil asks as if he's recovering from a cold and not the crushing memory of his own demise.

    "I don't know," Logan says, and he doesn't. He honestly has no idea how he feels. He only knows he can't think his way out of this one, not this time.

    "You're taking this surprisingly well. At least, apart from your whole freak out last night, but that was warranted."

    "What happened?"

    "You destabilized."

    "I don't-I don't know what that means."

    Virgil sets his phone down on his knees and leans forward. "It takes a lot of energy to maintain a form like this, to affect objects in the real world. Up until now, your denial has kept you in a partially physical form, but when you realized the truth, you went into shock, and the reality you'd built around yourself dissolved. All the ghost activity, the lights, the noises? Every time something triggers, or almost triggers, the memory of your death, it conflicts with your conviction that you're alive, and your energy can't handle that."

    Logan wants to badly to say that that doesn't make sense, but he doesn't have the right to question the legitimacy of anything anymore. He feels smaller and weaker than he's ever felt. Death is the only thing he can't think his way out of.

    "Are you also dead? All three of you?"

    "Yeah. That's why we were so surprised you could see us. I honestly thought you were alive for a while. You're very corporeal."

    "I- I'm sorry, I don't follow. How could I die and then not remember it? How can I have no memory of time passing but still talk to you three every day? I don't-" Frustration boils in him, but a wave of nausea pushes it back down.

    "Easy," Virgil says. "You're not ready to manifest anything else right now. But to answer your question, you were caught in a loop."

    "A loop?"

    Virgil tsk's. "Roman is better at explaining this than I am," he mumbles, then louder adds, "Okay. So if a ghost is a collection of a person's energy, we can imagine that like a CD. It should play through with no interruptions. So, a ghost on loop is a scratched disk. It'll reach one part right near the end where it's scratched, and just keep repeating that part over and over as it tries to figure out how to process a scratched readout. Your death is the scratch. You went into shock and couldn't process it, so you just repeated the previous day over and over, so you wouldn't have to deal with it." He stops suddenly and glances at Logan hesitantly. "Does that make sense?"

    "Yes, actually, it does." Virgil sags with relief.

    "Good. As for the talking to us part: ghosts can enter the loops of other ghosts, but only as much as they're allowed. That's why we never went into your apartment. Roman giving you the book, which was deleted from your memory, led to your rising instability which was probably his goal."

    "Is that why he never liked me?" Logan asks, unsure of what he means by that. Virgil seems to understand because his face becomes impossibly even more serious. He chews his lip, as if debating how to start, or if he should start.

    "Patton died in 1981 and looped for seven years. Roman was the one who pulled him out. It was...bad. Really bad. I don't know the full story but..Patton didn't take well to being dead. He almost corrupted completely when Roman pulled him out, and Roman blames that on the seven years Patton spent in his delusion. Roman still tries to pull everyone he can out of their loops, but Patton thought you were...happy enough. But when we realized it was you causing the power outages and the shaking in the walls, Roman was afraid you'd become corrupt, so we pulled you out by force." Virgil is silent for a while before continuing quieter. "I'm sorry about that by the way. Feeling your soul leave your body isn't great."

    Logan stares at the wall above Virgil's head. A thousand emotions flutter through him at once and he doesn't have the knowledge or energy to identify and deal with them all. He wants to lie back down and go to sleep, and never wake up, and be dead if he was going to be dead. Was that all this had been? Three altruistic ghosts making him their pet project? Would they move out once they decided he wasn't going to go feral? Would he have to keep living in this apartment, in the apartment he'd died in, and keep being irrevocably and undeniably _lonely_? An ache in his chest starts up to match the one in his head, and he considers ignoring it, but he's tired of being in pain.

    "Was that all this was?" he asks. "You pulled me out because of Roman's hero complex?" As he says it, he braces himself for the answer, prepares to hold himself together until Virgil leaves. But Virgil's eyes widen, and his eyebrows disappear into his hair.

    "No! No, that's not it at all. I would- _we_ would- loop or not, we care about you. Even Patton would've given in eventually. Every day you appeared over again in the elevator...hurt. I wasn't sure how much more of it I could take."

    It wasn't much, but it was declaration he could believe.     

    "Alright," Logan says, brushing his hair from his face.

    "Alright?" Virgil asks, voice an octave higher than normal.

    "I don't know what else to say. This is _so far_ beyond me." The _crack!_ of the baseball bat plays again, like a video on repeat, and Logan finds he is milliseconds away from hysterics. "This is so far beyond me."

    "Well, look at the bright side," Virgil says, his voice even and low. "You've got as much time as you need to figure it out."

 ---

0

    Logan sat on Patton's couch, surfing articles on his laptop while Patton and Virgil tried to bake something in the kitchen. The mechanics of both activities were lost on him, but he learned not to question how things work.

    "I no longer even own this laptop. The intruder stole all my valuables," Logan insisted, staring at the laptop that miraculously had not vanished with the rest of his illusion. His apartment had reverted back to the dusty, dank, abandoned hole that it was, along with the rest of the hall, and the rest of the building, which, as it turned out, did have faulty wiring and a bad foundation and was scheduled for demolition within the next six months. What Logan couldn't figure out is why his laptop wasn't dying with his denial.

    "I mean, it's not your real laptop," Roman pointed out. "It's a psychic manifestation of your laptop."

    "Then how is it connected to the internet? How am I getting real news?"

    "Psychic wifi?" Virgil suggested. Logan glared at him and he grinned.

    "Don't question it, Logan," Roman said exasperatedly. "I have no idea how you, a ghost, sitting on a ghost couch in a ghost room, is using a ghost laptop. I don't want to know. I can't have an existential crisis when I no longer _exist_ , Logan."

    So Logan cut back on his questions, Roman worked on his temper, and Patton was very excited that things were finally settling into place.

    "Roman hasn't had to deal with a newbie since 2006," Patton said once, nearly vibrating with excitement. "I'd forgotten how entertaining it was. You should've seen him when we met Virgil."

    "Virgil was too nonchalant about being dead," Roman complained. "He didn't care at all about the gravity of the situation."

    "What gravity?" Virgil asked, muted old resentment burning in his eyes. "I'm already dead. What could possibly be more distressing than that?"

    Not much, Logan was finding out. He didn't appear daily in the elevator anymore, which raised quite a few more questions, all of which Virgil denied looking into.

    "I know you're like, a smart guy," Virgil told him. "But trust me. It's better if you don't think about it too much. Move forward."

    "Until when?" Logan asked, not even bothering to hide his upset.

    "Until there's nowhere else to go."

    So they went, the four of them, slowly, carefully.

    Logan never finished _The Kraus Project_. It wasn't worth the read anyway. He was still a overly-conscientious of locking doors, despite the fact that the building was condemned and they were ghosts who could neither die nor accumulate material possessions. The others never said anything about his locks and keys, and even though they could easily bypass them they all went through the effort of unlocking and re-locking every single one. He still couldn't stand baseball, still couldn't deal with the sound of metal slamming against a heavy object, but soon he wasn't shaking apart, literally or metaphorically. Soon, dying seemed like the past, rather than the constantly-looming present.

    Five months later, the building went down. Logan watched from the sidewalk as the wrecking ball laid the building to waste.

    "Where to now?" Virgil asked, pulling up a map of the US.

    "How about Nevada? We've never been to Nevada," Patton suggested

    "You hate the heat," Roman reminded him, looking at the decimated apartment building with mild distaste.

    "Well, what about New Mexico?"

    Roman made a disapproving sound. "You're getting even worse."

   Virgil, hiding his smile behind his notes, looked up at Logan. "What do you think? Where do you wanna go?"

    Logan tried and failed to hide his shock. "Me?"

    "Who else?" Virgil said at the same time Patton said, "Of course! Did you think we'd leave you here? Don't be ridiculous, Logan."

    Against his will, a warm swirl started forming in Logan's chest. He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. "I see. Well then, if you're looking to escape the heat, I'd suggest going to Montana."

    "Montana?" Roman looked as if his heart was about to burst.

    "Small population sparsely spread out, plenty of older and unused buildings- it's the perfect hiding spot."

    "Also a lot of ghost bears," Patton piped in.

    "There's no such thing as ghost bears, Patton." Logan admonished.

    Virgil choked on his gum. "Are you actually kidding me right now?"

    "No, I'm with Encyclopedia Brown," Roman said, voice wavering in misery. "I think I have the authority to say I'll believe it when I see it."

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up anytime at my tumblr!-[@astralbone](https://astralbone.tumblr.com/)


End file.
